


Torchwood Three (Hundred)

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Episode Related, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moments, One Shot Collection, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My (seriously ridiculous) attempt to write 300 moments in the lives of Torchwood's greatest. There's (almost) no way I'll ever get to 300... but what I do write will end up here. </p><p>Additional tags, triggers, and pairings will appear as needed. I'll also post summaries of the five most recent chapters below. </p><p>Enjoy! </p><p> <br/>Chapter Five: After returning from the past, Jack and Tosh share a dance.<br/>Chapter Six: Jack follows a mermaid into the water and drowns, drowns, drowns.<br/>Chapter Seven: Gwen ends up somewhere she shouldn't be...<br/>Chapter Eight: Newbie feeds the dinosaur.<br/>Chapter Nine: Immediately after "Countrycide."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

Gwen was waiting for him after everyone else had left for the day, leaning casually against the Hub’s entrance gate. She had her ankles crossed, her arms too, and her gaze lazily followed Myfanwy as she soared about overhead. Torchwood’s newest was the very picture of nonchalance. 

Jack didn’t buy it for a second. 

“Should I be worried?” he asked, strolling forward. Gwen’s head snapped like he’d startled her and Jack didn’t buy that either. 

“Worried?” 

“That one of my employees is waiting to get me alone.” Jack grinned. “Unless you’re looking for a discussion of the horizontal variety.” 

“That’s funny, because if the CCTV is to be believed, you and Ianto prefer everything but a horizontal position.” 

“Such are the drawbacks of a busy job and too few beds. Remind me to order beds, would you?” 

“Not a chance.” 

Stepping aside, Gwen revealed Jack’s coat draped carefully over the gate’s rung. She tossed it to him with a grin of her own. 

“C’mon,” she said. 

“Where to?” 

“Surprise.” 

Jack paused dramatically. “Do I need my gun?” 

“I’m gonna need a gun if you don’t get your butt through that door.” 

Jack went—but slowly, giving Gwen a real good look at the butt she seemed so eager to kick. 

“Honestly,” he heard her mutter. 

***

Over the years Jack had gotten good at recognizing peaceful moments when they came along and he’d gotten even better at treasuring them. So surprises aside, the trip was already perfect when he got to relax into the passenger’s seat, Gwen at the wheel, his aching feet propped up on the dash. 

“Put your feet down, you animal.” 

Almost perfect. 

“Seriously, Gwen.” Jack yawned. “Where are we heading?” 

“You’ll seriously see.” 

“Are you kidnapping me?” 

“Nope.” 

“A pity.” 

Jack drew squiggles on the window as Gwen kept her hands at the proper ten and two positions. They both sniffled as their bodies adjusted from cold, rainy air to the car’s stuffy heat. Jack yawned again. 

“… are we there yet?” he asked. 

“No.”

“Are we there yet now?” 

“You’re five.”

“Close—a hundred and five, but I can see how my boyish good looks might throw you off.” 

“Oh shut it already.” 

Gwen cranked on the radio and Jack did just that—shut it. He put his feet back up on the dash though too. Gwen glared and Jack was suddenly so damn thankful that he could recognize that as an endearment, he put his feet back down again without being asked. 

Together, they hummed along to the music. 

***

“Here we are.” 

Gwen spoke barely ten minutes later, right around when Jack was closing his eyes and unclenching his limbs. To most it would have looked like he was drifting off to sleep. Truthfully, relaxed and warm was the closest he got to sleep nowadays and he was pretty reluctant to pull himself out of it. Especially when their destination didn’t seem to include food, or sex, or some mysterious quirk of the universe. 

Jack blinked at the building through his foggy window. “A department store?”

“You got something against department stores?” 

“Well no—no, no, no—I have rather fond memories of a Bed Bath & Beyond back in the states where I… Gwen?” 

He’d thought that comment had sounded oddly defensive. Jack turned to find Gwen fiddling with the zipper of her hoodie, zip-ziping up and down with her eyes glued straight ahead. It was a nervous tick she’d probably picked up from Tosh (who liked to do the same with the zipper of her purse). Jack gently covered Gwen’s hand with his own. This time she really did startle. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“You know we’ve got a guest bedroom in that apartment of ours?” She asked instead, still looking forward. 

“I didn’t actually.” 

“Well we do. It’s not much I’ll admit, just room enough for a bed and another piece or two, but it’s decent by most standards. Cozy even. I’ve always thought so at least. I like it.” 

“That’s great.” Gwen was babbling and Jack squeezed a bit to try and ground her. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath and turned, giving him a tenuous smile.

“Right. So it’s like this. The whole thing’s probably a bit daft of me but… well. It’s not like we’re gonna be using the room a lot anyway, huh? Rhys and I have our own space and even if one of us gets pissy, the other always ends up on the couch. My mum and dad book a hotel whenever they visit and Rhys’s mum won’t be visiting much if we’ve both got anything to say about it. Our friends…” Gwen took another breath. “C’mon, Jack. Rhys’ mates are the type to crash on a park bench somewhere, drunk off their asses, and I’ve just got you lot… how many people you figure are actually gonna sleep there?” 

“None?” Jack laughed. “So what? Do whatever it is you normal couples do with extra space. Turn it into an office, or a craft room, or a freaking sex dungeon—minus the basement bit. Hell, save it for when you two have kids.” His hand strayed to Gwen’s stomach. “Is that what this is? You want help picking out baby furnishings?” 

Gwen snorted. “I’ve seen how you decorated that office of yours. No, Jack.” Her face grew serious. “It’s for you.” 

“What is?” 

“The room.” Gwen whirled in her seat, taking his hands this time. “The guest room is yours, okay? An actual bedroom where you can go and…” she shrugged. “I don’t know. Do whatever you need to do. Whatever you want to do. It’s a private space, Jack. Fuck. You can’t stay in the Hub twenty-four seven. You don’t even have a place to sleep there.” 

Jack pulled away. “I don’t sleep,” he snapped. 

“I know! Just—” Gwen threw up her hands. “It’s not…” 

“What?” 

“Not…” 

“Normal?” 

“Oh nothing we do is normal, don’t start with that.” 

With a huff Gwen sat back and Jack was left staring out the window again. A room? He only realized he was making fists when his knuckles cracked in the otherwise silent car. Jack slowly unfurled his fingers and watched as the skin tightened against his bones. 

A room?

“And what does your fiancé think about this little arrangement?” He said. It didn’t come out kindly. 

“Rhys agreed.” Jack’s head snapped back to look at Gwen again. “Oh I know.” She nodded. “No one was more surprised by that than me. Even said it was a decent idea after some talking through because… well, because Tosh has her library, Jack. And Owen’s addicted to ridiculous soaps on that flat screen of his. Even Ianto leaves at the end of the day and god knows he’s the only one who spends as much time in the Hub as you.” Gwen drew out a key from her pocket, practically shoving it at him. “We all have our space. We just want you to have somewhere to come home to.” 

Feeling numb, Jack took the key and shuddered when the cold metal first touched his skin. 

“You realize I have more than enough money for a place of my own?” He murmured. 

“Not the point, Jack.” 

“And you…” He cleared his throat. “You’re sure about this?” 

Gwen gave him a withering look. “Would I have dragged you all the way out here for drapes and shit if I wasn’t?” 

Jack gave a startled laugh. “Well then.” Shaking his head he tossed the key, caught it, and slipped into his coat with far more reverence than his actions suggested. Leading the way he stepped firmly out of the car and into the rain. 

Jack leaned on the hood and watched as Gwen rose hesitantly to join him. She let the zipper of her hoodie drop. 

“You’re astounding, you know that?” He asked. 

“I do.” Gwen slipped her arm through his. “Don’t mind the reminder though.” 

“I’ll work on reminding you then.” 

The set off towards the store with one half of Jack holding onto Gwen, the other half holding onto her gift. 

“Drapes, huh?” he asked. 

“And anything else you want. You can paint it, get new furniture… it’s your room, Jack.” 

“My room.” Grinning, he held up a finger. “Roomies, huh. Does this mean I get to listen in on you and Rhys having sex?” 

“…” 

“I mean, you can listen in whenever I bring someone back too, if you want. It’s only fair.” 

“Fair,” Gwen growled as she shoved him through the door. Jack went, laughing. “What we’re buying is some soundproofing.” 

(And then we’re going home.)


	2. Evidence

Years later, Ianto would recognize this as the first evidence of their team’s cohesiveness, his friends’ ability to think and act as one, unstoppable unit. 

It begins with Tosh.

She’s skittish around him, too unsure about her own status to dare and make judgments about his. In some ways it’s reassuring. While Jack, Owen, and Gwen all hide behind black-and-white decrees (“He was grieving,” “He should have known better,” “He was _desperate_ ,”) Tosh smiles at Ianto with the same hopeful shyness she’s always possessed, popping in and popping out as if nothing had been amiss days before. As if he hadn’t threatened to shoot her along with the others.

Ianto is half convinced that no act could actually change their relationship—for better or for worse—until six days After when Tosh dumps a collection of files on his desk that need archiving. He knows something’s amiss the moment he hears their _thunk_ , for they’ve taken a break in the time immediately After. Rift or no rift, they all need time. Time means fewer cases; fewer cases means less paperwork…

Yet this stack is a mountain and its addressed to him.

Literally—Ianto sees his name drawn in a delicate hand across the manila envelopes, large letters ensuring that he doesn’t toss it willy-nilly into the Hub’s basement. (Not that he’d do such a thing. Not even now, with his mind half closed off in self-preservation and the other half blank for the safety of his team. If it weren’t, what would happen if they brought it up face-to-face? Would Ianto lower his head or raise another gun?)

It’s perhaps for the best that their condolences come in envelopes.

Tosh knows electricity, the wires that connect everything from their coffee machine to their alien tech. She knows the brain and its wires too... even ones that monsters have warped wholly beyond repair. Opening the covers one by one (smearing his name each time with new tears) Ianto unfolds data analyses of Lisa’s brainwaves:

Portions of the cortex responsible for sympathy and empathy destroyed, impulsivity taken care of, logic and reason reign with no affection to check them. Some sections of the data are simply labeled “unknown” for there was no remaining brain matter to test. Lisa’s mind was largely a mess of metal and filaments, resembling a computer far more than a person. And though they’d met a number of lovely computers in their time, this one hadn’t been built for friendship, let alone love.

Tosh had added a note at the bottom in a shakier hand, just in case he missed it—all of this the Cybermen had completed in the initial stage (before he’d pulled her from the fire, before she’d screamed).

This disease was not progressive.

Ianto shreds the papers when he can’t bear to read them anymore and by then he already has it memorized. Later that afternoon Tosh gives him a watery smile across the Hub and Ianto turns away.

He doesn’t think he can thank her for this. 

***

Jack is next, their leader lagging just slightly behind his subordinate. Ianto knows they’re not coordinating (later he checks) but Jack nevertheless shows up a day later with another envelope. This one is wine stained and free of any tentative notes.

It’s an account by a U.N.I.T. agent—Jones, M.—who describes a Cybermen run-in at an undisclosed location (not Earth then). The story is a simple one, of another human who’d only been partially upgraded like Lisa (definitely not Earth). The difference lay in that this human was a six-year-old boy who had a mother (like a lover) willing to fight for him. And indeed, there had seemed to be a lot to fight for at the time. The boy had cried in terror at his experiences, clung desperately to his family, even requested a lost toy from his infancy and held it tight when they brought it to him. They let him go home… and two hours later his mother, her girlfriend, and the family rabbit were all found in various stages of pseudo-conversion. Just like Dr. Tanizaki.

Then there’s another note at the end, this one in Jones’ hand:

_“This incident – and the postmortem analysis – suggests that Cybermen may at times download the ‘life story’ of a victim prior to their upgrade. This allows the newly created Cyberman to ‘copy’ the victim’s personality and mannerisms, effectively becoming a sleeper agent until it is deemed time—either by the individual or by the hive—to recommence upgrades. There is also evidence that this information is available to all Cybermen, given their connectivity. Those in close relation to the boy were immediately taken into protective custody._

_However, as this is the first case known to U.N.I.T., we will require more evidence before we can determine if this is a common strategy among the Cybermen.”_

“Well, you have more evidence now.” Ianto whispers and promptly vomits all over the reports. He’s thinking of all the Cybermen have having access to Lisa’s memories, using them.

Oh god. 

He shreds these papers too—bile and all—and ascends to Jack’s office, grey-faced.

They don’t say anything. Ianto leaves again because there’s really nothing to say.

He knows that if he’d told Jack he would have shared the information. He could have informed Ianto that this had happened before.  

But they both know that if he’d shared, Ianto still wouldn’t have believed him. Events would have proceeded exactly as they had before.

So what exactly do you say to that?

***

Owen comes next, just a few days after Jack. He shoves the envelope against Ianto’s chest while stalking past, not meeting his eye.

“Read the damn thing with a stiff drink!” He calls and then he’s out the door.

Ianto—for once—takes the doctor’s advice. Bottle in hand he pores over the medical report of Lisa’s body, another bottle sitting ready at his feet. The alcohol does little to numb how similar it all is to Tosh’s work.

Lisa no longer had any feeling, anywhere. No doubt it was to keep her functioning through any pain, but all Ianto can picture is how he’d stroked her cheek… how he’d kissed her lips… and how she’d smiled each time he did so. Her data told her to smile. Her lips hadn’t known... and then Ianto remembers her crying, screaming, her manipulative insistence that she was in pain and oh god, Ianto, can't you do something? He smashes the second bottle against his kitchen counter then, spending an hour effectively tearing up the papers as well as his tile.

Owen picks the glass and marble out of his hands the next morning. His lips are tight when he says,

“Should’ve called me last night. This is gonna scar like a bitch.”

“Good,” Ianto says.

For the first time in days he’s thankful for every pain he feels.

***

Gwen, bless her, writes a letter. The person Ianto knows the least provides the most personal evidence.

And it is evidence, despite its brevity:

_‘Ianto,_

_I may not have known Lisa, but I’m getting to know you. No one cries like you did unless they love a person and they know that person loves them back. But, hun, Lisa wouldn’t have done this if she'd loved you._

_So that wasn’t Lisa. She died at Canary Wharf._

_Try to find comfort in that.’_

***

Lisa Hallett died at the battle of Canary Wharf.

(Gwen’s letter is the only one Ianto gets to keep).

***

Ianto will tell them, someday. Not only of how they helped but also of what he could see, the formation of his beloved team in decisions off the battlefield as well as on. They each gave him the same comfort in their own, unique way.

They helped.

For now though, Ianto refills their coffee cups. He tries to top each mug perfectly; a small gesture to represent the thanks he can’t yet say.

 

 

 

 


	3. Ci-Bot

Owen didn’t bother looking at the clock when he woke up. Whatever the time was, it wasn’t worth knowing. He just stumbled to his feet—the couch’s blanket proving itself to be a real bastard as it tried to trip him—blearily rubbing his eyes and letting loose an enormous yawn. Cardiff was pitch black as Owen passed by the window. Too fucking early. 

It wasn’t much of a trip from the couch to the bathroom, certainly not far enough to wake Owen up. Half a lifetime as a doctor coupled with three years at Torchwood and he was still a zombie-man without two cups of coffee. That, or a serious adrenaline rush. One moment Owen was dead to the world, the next he was standing over the toilet bowl with his dick in his hand—aiming purely from muscle memory—partly listening to the stream, mostly still stuck in his dream world where a group of ladies were waiting on him (impatiently).

Frankly, Owen Harper was exhausted, so perhaps he could be forgiven for not immediately noticing the light.

When he did, Owen’s whole body went cold.

Well… he was bloody awake now.

There, right on the edge of his vision was a flashing red light—on off, on off, terrifyingly steady. At first Owen told himself it was just his electric toothbrush charging and then the rest of his sleep-addled brain caught up, reminding him that he hadn’t bothered to charge the stupid thing in two months. It was currently lying dead underneath his sink. And wasn’t that a pleasant green color? The red thrumming to Owen’s left was… ominous.

Owen became very aware that he still had his dripping penis out and his too-big boxers slipping down his ass. More importantly—though no less embarrassing—Owen realized that he didn’t have any weapons at hand. All the knives were actually out in the kitchen and his Glock was tucked under his pillow. Fucking shit.

On off, on off… was the light getting stronger? Owen didn’t particularly want to turn and find out. Slowly, hardly breathing, he crouched until his cold fingers touched the handle of a plunger. If whatever was trespassing in his bathroom didn’t kill him, Owen was going to kiss Tosh for buying him the damn thing.

Then Owen heard it: a low, mechanical whirring just audible around the pounding in his ears. His hands tightened viciously around the plunger, preparing.

Teeth grit, dick out, boxers now down around his knees, Owen whirled in one smooth(ish) motion and brought the plunger up like a baseball bat. What he saw though caused him to freeze.

There _was_ something hovering above his sink—something small but certainly vicious. It had one red blinking eye and sharp talons reaching out for him. Owen spotted his own horrified reflection in the mirror, his face so white it shown in the darkness.

Then the thing slowly turned its head, letting out a horrible screech of metal on metal in the process. It seemed to breathe.

“Owen Harper—” It said and Owen screamed.

 

***

 

“‘ _Owen Harper_ —’” Jack imitated, making his voice cold and mechanic. He lost it for a second, his face splitting into a grin, before he recovered and finished with, “‘ _please wash your hands after relieving yourself_.’”

Gwen and Tosh burst into laughter—again—as Owen thumped his head against the table.

“It’s not funny,” he growled.

“You’re right,” Ianto said. “A more appropriate word is ‘hilarious.’”

He missed Owen’s glare. Ianto was busy oiling the adorable machine that hovered just a few inches above Owen’s shoulder. It really was cute, if Tosh’s earlier gushing was anything to go by: a squat silver body, wee silver arms, and a pink eye that flashed at them curiously. As Ianto oiled another joint the robot made a whirring noise not unlike a purr.

“It’s like a Sci Fi Pillsbury Doughboy.” Gwen gushed and the rest of them roared.

“No it’s not!” Owen smacked a hand against his thigh. “You lot weren’t there, okay? It was terrifying. This thing breaks into my apartment when it’s dark as hell, its got an evil red eye, and it’s just hovering there like some awful alien serial killer waiting to pounce—”

“And then it tells you to wash your hands,” Jack finished. He was still chuckling. 

Gwen leaned forward. “I’m sure it was traumatizing, love,” she said. With wicked solemnity she traced a fake tear down her cheek.

“Oh go fuck yourself— _ow!_ ”

Finished with Ianto’s care, the little robot had whipped out a thin metal rod and smacked Owen across the forearm with it. Owen stared up at the machine, disbelieving.

“Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re— _OW!_ ”

“Language,” the robot said. It made a clicking noise that was distinctly chastising. “It’s unbecoming for a young humanoid to fill his mouth with such filth.”

“Ohhhh myyyy _god_.” Gwen covered her own mouth with both hands as Tosh buried her face in Gwen’s shoulder. Squeaking sounds emerged.

Owen gaped for another moment before rounding on Jack.

“What the hel—” He stopped, paused, rethought that, and began again.

“What exactly is going on, Jack?” He ground out.

Jack appeared slightly blue in the face from trying to hold in his own laughter. He exhaled and it produced a series of shaky coughs.

“Ci-bot,” he eventually said.

“Ci-what now?”

“Childrearing Intervention Robotics. Ci-bot. Developed by the Pilan culture ohhh… way far out from this planet. Nice folks though. Born physically mature but not mentally. Pity that. But just imagine for a second a bunch of humanoids, with the speed of a cheetah and the strength of ten men, all running around with the personality of a two-year-old.” Jack ignored the team’s horrified expressions and pointed to the Ci-bot. “These little beauties were developed to help keep the kids in line, especially while the parents were working. You’re lucky, Owen. If it’s just correcting your manners than its on an adolescent setting. Imagine if it thought you were an infant.”

“But I’m not an infant!” Owen shouted. He glared at the Ci-bot. “And I’m not a goddamn adolescent either, I’m thirty-fucking-years— _STOP HITTING ME!_ ”

“It appears to disagree with you.” Ianto said. He stroked a loving hand over the Ci-bot’s head.

“Too right,” Jack grinned. “Funny little thing about Ci-bots, if they’re not assigned a child they attach to one that their program reads as needing help. Must have fallen through the Rift, ended up in your apartment, and—look at that, Owen—determined that you needed a caretaker.”

“No.” He whispered.

“Sorry, yes.” Tosh piped up. She waved a mobile Rift detector in his face. “Traced the energy right back to your bathroom.”

“At least it’s cute,” Gwen said.

“ _No_.”

“Either way, Owen.” Jack said, all teeth. “You’re stuck with your new friend.”

“No. Fuck no, I— _dammit!_ ”

“One more foul word, young humanoid, and I will separate you from your companions.”

 

***

 

The following week was beautiful. For everyone but Owen, that is.

“You’ve had your fill, young humanoid. Put the rest aside for later.”

Owen paused with the crisp halfway to his lips. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m still hungry, you useless tool.”

The Ci-bot’s pink eye flashed rapidly, as if it knew Owen was insulting it but the technical innocence of “tool” threw it off. Owen grinned, until:

“Save the rest for later.”

“No. You can’t just go ahead and make me, you—hey!”

The Ci-bot’s arms shot out, snatched the bag, and stored it in an opening that had appeared in its body. It closed back up again, not even a seam remaining.

“Give that back!”

Whirring. “No.”

“ _Give_ —”

“Hey, Ci-bot.” Gwen interrupted before Owen could bludgeon the thing. “ _I_ haven’t had any junk food today. Can I finish the crisps instead?”

Ci-bot vibrated as it regarded Gwen. Then, “Yes.”

The compartment reappeared and Gwen happily snatched the treat. She danced away from Owen before he could make a grab at her.

“I hate you,” he hissed. “I hate you both.”

Twenty minutes later, Owen tried sneaking open another packet. That was when they learned that Ci-bot could disintegrate objects with scary accuracy.

Owen went and got himself an apple.

 

***

 

“Owen…”

Tosh had been watching her friend for nearly an hour now. He’d gone from squirming mildly to viciously crossing his legs. He now had a hand pressed to his abdomen with worrying desperation.

“Owen,” Tosh began again, chewing her lips. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

Owen glanced at her only briefly. His cheeks were tinged pink.

“You do.” Tosh sighed. “Owen. What—?”

“It won’t let me go alone,” he growled.

Oh.  

“It’s a piece of technology. I don’t think it cares about all that.”

“I know.” 

“And its already seen your—”

“I KNOW, Tosh.” 

“Ci-bot?” Tosh cleared her throat. “I’m a mature female with extensive knowledge of childrearing. May I accompany the young humanoid to the facilities in your stead?”

Whirring—far longer than was normal—until finally,

“… Very well.”

“Great.” Tosh hopped up from her station, brushing right past Owen’s wide eyes and slack jaw. “Well? C’mon. I’m gonna be pissed—pun intended— if you say I made things worse.”

Owen frantically hobbled after her.

Tosh enjoyed the view.

 

***

 

“It is time to rest, young humanoid. Your body requires sleep.”

“Oh shove it.” Owen continued to make another cup of coffee, threateningly raising his spoon when the Ci-bot edged closer. “And don’t even think about disintegrating the coffee-machine. Tea-boy here will have your metallic hide.”

“Indeed,” Ianto said from where he was washing dishes in the sink. He paused though as the Ci-bot turned its pink gaze on him.

“Yes?” Ianto prompted after a moment of silence. Owen was still grumbling about his coffee.

The Ci-bot tilted its head. It looked oddly… devious. “If I force the young humanoid to sleep,” it said. “Will you move him to an appropriate place of rest?”

Ianto paused. “… Sure,” he said right as Owen turned and went, “Wait what?”

Too late. From its arm the Ci-bot produced a syringe. It hit Owen in the back of the neck, lightning quick, and he crumpled to the floor like a sack of bricks. Two seconds later, Owen began to snore.

“Wow.” Ianto said.

Whirr-whirr. “Yes.”

“… You’re sure I can’t just leave him here?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Ianto sighed and dried his hands. “But I’m not changing him into jammies or anything.”

 

***

 

Owen woke up on the couch eight and a half hours later—the optimal amount of time for humanoid recharging—and the first thing he saw was Ci-bot hovering above his nose.

“Good morning, young humanoid. It is time to bathe.”

“THAT’S IT.”

Owen was up the steps to Jack’s office in record time, Ci-bot keeping pace behind him. The rest of the team followed, snickering, snapping picks of Owen waving at the little bot like it was an errant fly. Gwen tisked as Owen caught Ci-bot and steered it off course.

“This thing needs to go,” he growled. Jack barely looked up at the angry doctor towering over his desk.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Really? Because I’m not. Ci-bot seems like a great addition to the team. What do you guys think?”

“We’ve grown quite fond of him, sir.” Ianto agreed as the girls nodded solemnly.

“I’m poisoning you all the first chance I get. Look,” Owen swatted at Ci-bot again when it tried to flatten his hair. “I can’t live like this. You all are sick if you think I can. Now I don’t care if you need to freeze it or melt it or throw it back into the bloody Rift. Just get rid of it!”

“Oh really, Owen. There’s no need for all that.” Jack turned a page of his book. “We’ll just tell the Ci-bot to turn itself off.”

“We’ll…” Owen’s eyes went wide dinner plates. “… _What?_ ”

Jack gestured lazily. “Ci-bot? The young humanoid is under my care now. You’re relieved of your duties.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

The little robot ignored Owen’s shout. Oddly enough, its eye blinked somewhat morosely.

“Very well.” It said. “Would you like me to play back the young humanoid’s reminders before shutting down?”

“Reminders?” Jack tossed his book aside, eyebrows raised. “Owen didn’t set any reminders—oh.” His eyebrows rose higher and another grin began to creep onto Jack’s face. “Oh, ooooh. Unless it was an instinctual reminder? Is that it, Ci-bot? Ha! Owen, Owen, Owen—did I forget to mention that Ci-bot’s are mildly telepathic?”

“What? _What?_ ”

Owen was trying to grab Ci-bot out of the air but it was too high up. A tiny projector-like device had emerged from its body and, to Owen’s horror, it began playing a very familiar hologram in front of the whole team.

Owen saw himself: half asleep, dick hanging out, boxers around his knees, and gripping a plunger in white-knuckled hands. He didn’t think it could get any worse—Tosh squealing, Gwen cackling, Ianto looking distinctly unimpressed—until a voice accompanied the image. It was mechanical, but definitely parroting his own thoughts:

_“Fucking fuck. If I get out of this I’m bloody well gonna kiss Tosh for buying me this thing.”_

Dead. Silence.

“This is a reminder that the young humanoid needs to kiss the humanoid ‘Tosh’ for buying him the plunger. Shutting down now.”

Thus it was that Ci-bot died…

… but it certainly left a lot to talk about.


	4. Rings

The first one he spots is so traditional.

They’ve been summoned to a jewelry store in the dead of night, pulled from their beds to look upon the horror that a massive creature has wrought. Ianto knows its massive because there’s a case of diamonds smashed into the shape of a claw-print and because Owen, turning green at the scattering of body parts around them, proclaims that this was done with a single rip.

“And we’re sure it’s gone?” Gwen squeaks. She clears her throat and bashfully rubs the back of her neck. There’s no judgment though.

“Definitely,” Tosh whispers, clutching her tools like a lifeline. “I… yeah. Yeah I’m sure. Barely any residual energy left. Its been hours.”

Owen pokes a bit of flesh with his pen and gulps at the congealing sound it makes. “This shit is stone-cold, Tosh. I could’ve told you that.”

“Well I appreciate both opinions, guys.” Gwen deliberately loosens her shoulders, shakes out her hands. “Very reassuring.”

“So how about we clean this up and get out of here before he decides to come back.”

Jack is the only one that appears unaffected. Except that Ianto can see how he’s pulled off his coat despite the cold—itching for a fight—and the way his eyes bounce to each of them in turn, rhythmic—keeping watch over his team. Ianto steps closer and brushes their shoulders together so that Jack won’t have to find an excuse to do it himself.

Except that Jack stiffens at his touch.

“Shall I handle the police, sir?” Ianto asks.

“No. Gwen, you do that. Ianto, I want you on the surveillance. Initial reports claim the attacker was invisible but there’s gotta be a trace, dammit. There always is.”

“Tosh would really be better at—”

“She’s working Rift fluctuations,” he snaps.

Indeed, Tosh is already arms deep in a mobile setup of two laptops and something that hums powerfully when she types. She’s looking frantically for an indicator of where the creature might strike next.

“… Right, sir.”

“Good boy.”

Jack says it mockingly, a part of him knowing that Ianto will flinch at the term normally used in bed, a larger part of him just blind to what’s spewing out of his mouth in his anger. Ianto tries to let that anger slide right off his suit, knowing it's not truly directed his way. Still… some of it sticks.

“Right, sir.” He says again.

So it’s actually while he thrumming with shame he’s not entitled to and hunched protectively over his phone that Ianto spots it. It glitters amongst a pile of otherwise glistening flesh. Bending, he thinks that the portion he’s looking at now might have once been a hand. Or perhaps that’s simply projection, given that there’s a ring sitting beside it.

For all the mess of the massacre this beauty has somehow come out unscathed. It’s a diamond ring with a cut Ianto doesn’t know how to name, but its one that makes his breath catch with admiration. There’s no sun to glint off the diamond’s surface but the artificial lights above are somehow just as satisfying. Ianto watches the floor around it and catches bits of blue, green, and yellow scattered amongst the red.

It could be the store’s merchandise. It could also belong to one of the victims—a Mrs. Lewin, married to Ryan for fourteen years.

Either way it’s stealing. Either way Jack has done little to earn Ianto’s affection this night. 

Still. 

He slips the ring into his pocket when his teammates aren’t looking. He tells himself that it’s a small payment from the city for all the unacknowledged work that Torchwood does.

It’s not exactly a lie.

 

***

 

Except that two nights later Ianto polishes the strangely immaculate ring and finds the engraving. They’re words whispered to him from a dead man:

“To Lisa. With love eternal, Ryan.”

Ianto nearly gives it back… but tucks it safely into a locked drawer instead.

 

***

 

The second ring is so far removed from the first as to be laughable. It’s a sunny day—comparatively—and the Rift has been silent enough that it could almost drive them all to paranoid madness. Instead Tosh insists on an excursion. Somehow they decided on ice cream.

Ianto can’t help it. He sits along the edge of the fountain—watching Gwen splash Owen, watching Jack watch them both, memorizing their ice cream choices, the way they’ve all rolled up their sleeves—and wonders what this says about their psychological profiles. Something optimistic, he hopes.

“Oi, get us a drink, yeah?”

Owen’s ‘request’ is coupled with a clattering of coins at Ianto’s feet. It _is_ a request though, of a sort. With his feet propped on Tosh’s bag and his head titled to the sky, Owen looks so shockingly relaxed that if Ianto had told him to bugger off, he probably would have. It’s this knowledge that sends Ianto easily to his feet with a smile instead of a scowl. The eye-roll is just for show.

“Something caffeinated,” Jack requests. He licks a long strip around his ice cream, deliberately obscene. With warm hands he takes Ianto’s cone for safekeeping. “Hurry back,” he says.

Ianto power-walks.

There’s a soda machine, innocuous as any, and Ianto might have noticed the strange packaging if Owen had bothered to give him enough money. Instead he’s rummaging through his own pockets for more when the first bottle comes tumbling out, dislodging what was stuck to its front.

They’re toys—tiny, plastic things. Ianto tears the rest of the mangled packaging away and finds a golden ring inside. There’s a big, pink heart on top in lieu of a gem.

Well then.

Ianto chuckles for a minute while squatting on the sidewalk, the sun warming his back pleasantly. When he catches sight of his own reflection in the soda machine he chuckles some more.

“What took you so long?” Owen grouches. He snatches one of the five bottles and chugs half of it in a go. Gwen and Tosh share A Look at the belch that follows and deliberately start in on their own drinks delicately.

“Thanks, Ianto.”

“Yeah, cheers—heeey. Lookit this!”

They’ve found the toys and they’re opening them with a child-like glee that does Ianto’s heart good. Tosh has a blue dinosaur that she bops against Owen’s nose, making him splutter. Jack for his part is still holding both ice creams, now dripping tantalizingly over his hands. He lifts them along with his eyes in a cool sweep of Ianto’s body.

“Where’s mine?” he asks.

“Here, sir. But sorry, sir. No toy for you.”

Jack scowls dramatically at the bottle before raising puppy-dog eyes once more.

“Can’t I have yours?”

The ring burns in Ianto’s pocket and for a moment he’s tempted.

“… Finders keepers, sir.”

“Fine. Then I’m eating the rest of your ice cream.”

Jack is good as his word, devouring the mint chocolate chip with enough indecency to level any normal man. Good thing Ianto is far from normal. Instead he watches the display with as calm a countenance as he can, commenting only on how he’ll need to clean that precious coat later.

Jack grins. He leans into the fountain, presumably to rinse his hands, but the position puts him directly beside Ianto’s ear. 

“How ‘bout when we get back to the Hub, you lick it off instead?”

 

***

 

There’s a ring formed from braided flowers that Tosh tosses to him one summer, laughing sheepishly. Ianto thinks about giving Jack a ring that his team helped make.

There’s a ring that comes through the Rift unexpectedly, when Ianto is the only one manning the Hub. It’s an antique and Ianto thinks about giving Jack a ring that’s a little closer to his own age.

There’s a ring he finds at the bottom of a swimming pool, courtesy of the goblin trying to drown him. Ianto takes a precious second to sweep it into his palm, the rest of his body screaming in horror for air. He thinks about giving Jack a ring and saying, “I risked my life for this, sir.”

His grandmother bequeaths him a ring. The woman he hadn’t bothered to visit in nearly seven months—too busy, too tired, bearing too many bruises to explain—and she still passes her worst grandson her greatest possession. Ianto pictures giving this one to Jack and admitting that he’s not sure either of them deserve it.

There are other rings. Handfuls of them, enough that one day Ianto goes out and buys a velvet-lined box to keep them all safe. They range from priceless to irreplaceable. Each is perfect and not nearly enough.

Ianto keeps collecting. Someday—he’s not sure when—but someday he’ll present Jack with a box instead of a ring.

He’ll propose in a thousand ways simultaneously because Jack Harkness deserves every proposal there is.


	5. Dance

“You never learned, did you?”

Jack stilled at the confident voice—mostly out of surprise at who it was coming from. Tosh leaned in the doorway to his office, one arm hugging her purse, the other tapping out a beat against her thigh. Jack allowed himself a chuckle before settling back into his chair.

“There are a lot of things I’ve never learned, Tosh.” He said. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

“Dancing,” she replied. The tapping picked up tempo and Jack was already half-convinced it was an unconscious gesture. “I saw you back there with… _Jack_.” Tosh stumbled over his not-name, ducking her head to blush at the floor. “Don’t think that just because everyone else was too wrapped up in your forbidden romance to notice that I wouldn’t.”

“Notice what?”

“That you _suck_.”

That startled a laugh out of Jack. He shook his head, but Tosh was already bringing up her arms to imitate him. Her purse dropped to the floor.

“Sway left… sway right…” Her mimicking was a little too accurate for Jack’s taste. “Sway left again… tread on his foot a bit—" 

“I didn’t step on him!”

“Oh yes you did. I know because I was watching the floor for rift debris.”

Jack scowled. Tosh never lied about that. Whenever a bridge between worlds—or time—opened up, all manner of things had a tendency to fly through. Random knick-knacks landing in Cardiff where his team could collect them was one thing. Things flying _backwards_ into 1941? That would have caused more of a problem. Humans finding bits of their past was fine; finding bits of their future was not.

“None came through though, right?” Jack asked, suddenly serious.

“I would have brought it back if it had,” Tosh said. She linked her fingers and stretched them above her head. “C’mere then.”

Jack stood immediately, choosing not to think too much on the trust he held in her. Instead he simply took Tosh’s hand at her invitation and fit the rest of his body snugly against hers. Tosh tisked a bit when his arm went too far around her back.

“Beneath the shoulder blade,” she murmured. “Firm but don’t crush me. You’re trying to lead an equal, not establish dominance.”

“Oh, I think it’s pretty clear who the dominant one is.” Jack laughed when Tosh whacked him with her left hand while beginning to steer with her right. Sometimes he forgot that she was ambidextrous. It made her one hell of a typist – among other things.

With Tosh helping to guide him Jack moved (relatively) smoothly across the floor, covering his office first once, then twice. Ten minutes before he could have still put arguments before her— _Who’s to say I was the one leading? I’m quite good at noting what_ isn’t _dancing, don’t you know? It was about the intimacy of the moment, not the steps. Rather hard to dance with homophobes and an open rift staring you down_ —but now Tosh had experienced ten minutes of him knocking knees and, yes, treading painfully on her toes. It was after he’d run them into his desk for the second time that Jack looked up with a sheepish smile.

Tosh shook her head. “How do you let over a hundred years pass without learning to dance?”

“Never needed it.” Jack grinned a wolfish grin. “I’ve found that people…” He paused. “And non-people, are happy enough to ‘dance’ with me. Just not the Waltz.” 

“Uh huh.”

“And how did you find time to learn in just thirty years?”

“My mother insisted.” Tosh shrugged, as best she could with her arms up and poised.

“Makes for a good wife?"  

“Makes for a confident woman.”

Jack hummed in agreement. He’d always liked Tosh’s mom—what little he’d learned while recruiting Tosh and in the surveillance since. Tosh was indeed confident here, wielding her body with an assurance he’d previously only seen gifted to maths and tech. Jack made a mental note to take her back down to the gun range sometime soon. He might be able to tease a better shot out of her, if they thought about shooting as another kind of dance. It was of a sort. Confident and deadly.

“You’re getting it…”

He was. Jack managed to turn them without dislodging Tosh’s shoe this time. When they were back to where they’d started he finally stilled, dipping down to rest his head against her shoulder. 

“Is this how you like spending your Friday nights, Tosh?” he asked. “After surviving bombs and rift fluctuations – dancing with your boss?”

“This _is_ nice, but…” Tosh cleared her throat. “This is more how I like to say ‘sorry.’”

When the silence stretched Tosh stiffened slowly, like she was turning to stone in his arms, and eventually she tried pulling away completely. She gave a breathy, horrible laugh.

“Sorry. I—sorry,” Tosh said again. “I know I’m not the one you want to be dancing with…”

“Get back here,” Jack didn’t speak again until she was once more settled in his arms. Swaying. “You’re my preferred dance partner. From here on out, got it?” He pressed a kiss to her hair when the shaking started.

“I’m so glad we got home, Tosh. Don’t doubt that.”


	6. Mermaid

Jack chased the mermaid over six blocks, which gave him plenty of time to ruminant on how weird this whole situation was (comparatively, that is).  A mermaid. _Running._ He could honestly say that he’d never expected this.

 

When he was back at the Hub, the first thing Jack was going to do was get Tosh to research Hans Christian Anderson. He’d bet dinner and his best whisky that the crafty author had at least one interaction with aliens. Specifically with the Merllians. Or the Merollans. Whatever the ‘mermaid’ had said her species was. Was it a coincidence that one of Earth’s most beloved fairy tales just happened to reflect a genus that could split their fish tails in two, into something resembling legs, and sprint with an enthusiasm that put Jack’s training to embarrassing shame? Absolutely not. He grinned as they both skidded around a foul smelling dumpster and picked up speed. So much for walking on the blades and points of sharp knives.

 

The rest of the chase Jack spent admiring his advisory’s figure. For a half-fish she was remarkably pleasant to look at (not that Jack had anything against fish): silver hair and silver scales that flowed in intricate patterns down her back, moss tinted skin, a tail (legs? Legs-tail?) that was as blue as the ocean at dusk… the only thing that ruined the image was her contorted face and the five inch fangs she bared at him whenever she turned her head—180 degrees. She spit a few times too, leaving tiny holes in the back alley street. Jack assumed that all her kind could produce acid in the ducts Owen had found in the back of their throats. Cool.

 

What she’d done to the Fuller’s kids though? Not cool and Jack bared his own teeth just as viciously in return. The twin boys had been playing near a local pond when something shiny and beautiful started singing to them, beckoning them closer. Jack could forgive a feeding—aliens couldn’t always help what their bodies naturally craved; teaching them to bypass humans like some humans bypassed meat was one of the rare joys of the job—but dragging their flayed bones all the way back to the Fuller’s front door? That was malicious. That pissed Jack off.

 

Ryan and Thomas. Poor kids never stood a chance. Literally. Another mermaid-lookalike had turned her wily songs on Ianto and he’d becoming a drooling, drunken bimbo in three seconds flat. Fun to watch… not as fun when she nearly tore his throat out. One more thing that made this chase personal.

 

That, and the fact that this particular lovely was the species’ Queen. Kill her and the rest would follow in a spectacular display of mass suicide—at least according to the 1846 archives when this had, supposedly, happened before. Committing genocide through a single kill? It wasn’t Jack’s ideal way to spend a Saturday night. But like they said, it was the job.

 

Jack raised his pistol and let off a shot, cursing when it once again ricocheted off the mermaid’s scales. The gun wasn’t getting him anywhere. This kill would have to be of the up close variety… which was worrisome, given that they were getting closer and closer to the water.

 

Jack grinned. He’d always loved a challenge.

 

Two lefts, a right, and then it was a straight shot to the docks. Jack threw his weight forward and pumped his arms madly, even as the mermaid did the same. He knew it was a lost cause the moment her watery legs hit the wood of the pier though because even through the encroaching darkness he could see the transformation. What passed as toes got sucked back inside her skeleton, the legs drew together at the upper thighs, then they meshed seamlessly like a fleshy zipper pulled taught and firm. By the time Jack had his own boots sounding on the docks, the mermaid was flying through the air, her tail giving a sarcastic wave before it hit the water.

 

Jack dove in after her.

 

Probably not his greatest plan, but what else was he going to do? Up above thousands of mermaids were eyeing thousands of children, just waiting for their Queen to give the go-ahead to feed. Getting a little wet and muddy was the least of his concern.

 

How to go about catching a mermaid in her natural habitat though… that was something else entirely.

 

Jack swam, stroking arms and legs through the freezing water, taking a precious five seconds to slip out of his coat when the fabric started weighing him down (he took an extra two seconds to mourn its loss). Up ahead he could still see the reflection of the mermaid’s scales amidst the black sludge and every so often a brighter flash that might have been her turning to grin at him. The faster he swam though, the darker it got. The colder his limbs became… and the more Jack realized that he’d never be able to catch up. Not without land as an equalizer. By the time his body was shaking more than swimming, the mermaid was just a silver speck at an insurmountable distance.

 

It was about this time that Jack also realized how badly his lungs were burning, and that he didn’t know up from down.

 

Not a problem. Not for anyone immortal, that is. Jack took a chance and forced himself to tumble towards what he thought might be the sky. About forty seconds later, his lungs finally stretched to their full capacity and with a violent jerk his mouth flew open involuntarily, letting in an obscene amount of tacky water. It filled him in one long, horrible rush. 'Course, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened next. Again though, it wasn’t a problem. Jack used his last, torturous seconds to think about how he’d reawaken, swim to shore, and regroup with his team. They’d find the mermaid another way. Somehow. Together.

 

Except that in the three minutes, twenty-two seconds that Jack was dead his limp body was carried by eddies and currents deeper down... further away… unreachable.

 

The first time he resurrected, Jack’s lungs were already full of water. He only had long enough to realize that this death would be far quicker than the last and hen the panic clouded his judgment. He thrashed.

 

The eighth time he resurrected, Jack only knew he’d opened his eyes because it stung to do so. Everything around him was dark. He couldn’t see the blue-tinted arm right in front of his face.

 

The forty-eighth time his body was numb. Dead in another manner entirely. Jack wouldn’t have been able to swim even if he knew where to go.

 

The one hundred and sixty fifth time, Jack wasn’t sure who he was. All he knew was cold and waves and the spikes of pain that continually drove through his chest. There was little difference between the blackness of death and the blackness he awoke to. A mesh of water and pain. 

 

Nine hundred and sixty two times. When another’s arms finally wrapped around Jack’s chest, he didn’t even notice. The nine hundred and sixty third time, Jack awoke only to the water he and Owen had puddled underneath one another in the three minutes since. His friend still had his arms curled around Jack’s chest—which he could feel now, he could feel it—and he was screaming things in Jack’s ear that didn’t yet understand. Ianto was crying, sweeping a teleporter back into its box and apologizing for using it, apologizing for having too. Tosh was crying too, for the deaths displaying on her computer screen and the fact that she could do so very little to stop it. That was what Gwen was attempting, miles away, desperately trying to save at least one child even as Owen told her that they’d done it, they’d done something, they'd done this at least, oh fucking hell, Gwen, _we got Jack._

 

Maybe they’d do more. Eventually. For now, Jack simply breathed for the first time in two days.

 

(So much for a challenge). 


	7. Misplaced

Gwen awoke to a massive headache and Jack’s nose two inches from her face.

 

At first the worst of all possibilities flooded her: an emotionally taxing case, beers with the team, Tosh heading home, Ianto off to clean, Owen stumbling on a quest to find another bar—leaving her alone with Jack. He smiled, he flirted, he acted like _Jack_ , and between the alcohol and the pheromones—between his close smile and Rhys’s growing distance—Gwen ended up doing the one thing she swore she’d never do, leading to now.

 

Except... then Gwen noted that her headache wasn’t the post-drinking pounding she’d grown used to. She found, with massive relief, the spring poking into her back that told her she was still on the Hub’s ancient couch. Sure enough, behind Jack, Tosh was sitting at her station, watching her. Owen was beside Tosh... also watching her. Gwen could feel Ianto’s gaze somewhere in the distance.

 

“Hey there,” Jack said.

 

“Hey...” Gwen mumbled. When she spoke her mouth tasted like copper and stale vomit; she grimaced. “Back up a step, would you? Do I really need an audience for the morning after?” Even though this still didn’t feel like her normal hangover. Gwen gave a massive groan as she heaved herself into a sitting position. Rubbing her head, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and found them sticky with sweat.

 

Jack hadn’t backed up at all.

 

No, if anything he’d gotten closer, kneeling right by the edge of the couch, his arm resting just a hair’s breadth away from her leg. It might have been a comfortable almost-touch if not for the muscles standing taught beneath his rolled sleeve. With a coldness running down her spine, Gwen really looked and found Jack smiling. Not the welcoming smile he’d given her for years now, but the cold, faux grin he used on police officers and hostile aliens. It made her skin crawl, having that aimed her way.

 

Gwen let out a breathy laugh. “Jack? What’s going on?”

 

His eyebrows shot up. Behind him, just at the corner of her eye, Gwen could see Owen’s lips pursing in... hostility? Tosh crossed her arms.

 

“You know my name then?” Jack laughed too, an ominous chuckle. “Well, that does make things interesting, doesn’t it. Ianto? Why don’t you take our well informed guest to her room?”

 

“With pleasure, sir.”

 

“Guest—?” Gwen began, but Jack was already standing, moving away even as Ianto appeared at her side. By the time Jack’s words had fully registered, Ianto was slapping on the sonic cuffs Torchwood had been using since the 60’s—impossible for the person wearing them to accidentally harm themselves, also impossible to get out of. Gwen gapped as the blue field started up with a soft hum.

 

“Ianto!”

 

He jerked at hearing his own name.

 

“Oh c’mon.” Gwen looked around her, trying to find a sympathetic expression among the familiar faces. “Yeah, this has gone on long enough, you lot. Having a bit of fun at my expense, huh? Well fun’s over. And shame on you, Ianto. Weren’t you last using these cuffs with Jack? Owen, I do hope you sterilized them properly.”

 

Ianto was still tugging her towards the cells though and Jack, at hearing the innuendo, had actually startled in surprise. None of them registered anything like recognition and Gwen felt her stomach plummeting towards her boots.

 

Owen pulled his pen out of his mouth with a sneer. “Whatever she is,” he said. “She’s got some fucked up fantasies. Cute though.”

 

“Telepathic, maybe.” Tosh murmured. “Just slightly. It would explain how she knows our names.”

 

“Jack just said Ianto’s.”

 

“But how did she know Jack’s?”

 

“Tosh!” Gwen cried, trying to pull out of Ianto’s grip. Her friend blinked, looking half interested, half uneasy.

 

“See?” Tosh said.

 

Jack stood and watched as she was dragged away, speaking as if Gwen wasn’t even there.

 

“Telepathic or not, I want to know how she got in here. Tosh? Bring up the video feed for the last twelve hours. Owen, I want you starting in on the blood work. I’ll send you down for a sample in a minute. Suzie? Take a look at our security system. I never did trust that piece of junk.”

 

Nearly out of the room now, straining against Ianto’s arms, Gwen suddenly went limp at a single word.

 

“Suzie?” She breathed. Sure enough, off in the corner was a ghost, feet propped on the table, curls a frizzy mess... fiddling with the weapon she’d killed three people with.

 

Suzie Costello watched Gwen pass with no more recognition than the others. Gwen went easily now, coming to the understanding that something was very, _very_ wrong.

 

“Oh bollocks,” she hissed as Ianto threw her into a cell. Everything clicked into place. “Bloody fucking Torchwood!”

 

***

 

Suzie was pretty much the answer, but Gwen still noted a number of other red flags, telling her exactly what she _didn’t_ want to know.

 

The cell she was tossed into was damp and growing something vaguely blue on the far wall. Not entirely unexpected for a cell in general—especially for one right smack over Cardiff’s rift—but almost six months ago, Ianto had given the jail a massive, thorough cleaning, spurned on by Tosh’s growing concern that they weren’t treating the Weevils with as much compassion as they were capable of. That was the other thing. Janet, their resident Weevil mascot, was nowhere to be seen. Of course she wasn’t. Janet hadn’t been caught until Gwen had followed Jack up those stairs, witnessed a murder, and fallen head first into Torchwood with no way out. Those events, if Gwen’s theory was right, wouldn’t be occurring for some weeks yet.

 

God she hated time travel.

 

Made a fair bit of sense though. They’d all experienced it—the rift’s tendency to take as well as to give. It was just that, thankfully, it didn’t take people all that often (Ianto had found that it vastly preferred socks instead).

 

Although, Gwen had yet to hear of it taking a person and dumping them in their own time-stream, just a handful of days before their past self showed up no less. And wouldn’t that have been a shocker, Gwen Cooper learning about aliens and time travel all in one day. She probably would have shot herself, if her past self knew how to shoot. Probably would have picked up a gun and shot her future self _because_ she’d learned to shoot, which was admittedly a little hypocritical, and _shit_ this was all confusing. When she got back, Tosh was going to have a field day hearing about all this. If she got back. _When_. Regardless, Gwen would probably give her a good smack first; smack all of them for being unintentional twats.

 

Speaking of twats…

 

“What’s the date?” They were the first words out of Gwen’s mouth when Owen stepped into view. He paused, medical kit tucked under one arm, his eyes narrowing. His gaze then jumped briefly to a spot above Gwen’s head. Not that she didn’t already know she was being watched.

 

“You’re not asking the questions here,” Owen said, taking out a syringe. “Now be a love and hold out your arm. Gotta see what alien sludge you’re made outta.”

 

“What’s the date, Owen?”  Gwen repeated and watched as he bristled at his name coming out of her mouth. It made her stomach tighten.

 

“Don’t make me drug you. Just put your arm through the slot like a good girl—”

 

“Tell me the date and I’ll give you your sample.”

 

They froze like that a long moment, standing off, Gwen shaking but otherwise poised behind the Plexiglas, Owen grinding his teeth.

 

“March 3rd.” He finally bit out. “2006. You happy now?”

 

Happy wasn’t exactly the word. Taking a deep breath, Gwen settled cross-legged on the floor, ignoring Owen’s growing verbal abuse. There was no way she could give him any blood. Not when her physical self, like that of all Torchwood agents, was chock full of information; clues to the future that Owen would be able to tease out with ease: residual traces from numerous retcons, dormant poisons from aliens they had yet to encounter, bits of her own team from some rather creative saves… no. Gwen hadn’t exactly been trained for this situation—when were they ever?—but there was only one logical thing to do.

 

“My name is Gwen,” she said, overriding Owen’s threats mid-sentence. His mouth snapped shut. “I am human. If you look me up you’ll find that I _was_ —” Gwen stressed the word. “—a police constable with the South Wales police. I am now an agent of Torchwood Three. Number 65892. I’ll give you each one word to prove that I do, in fact, know you, and know you well.” Gwen took another calming breath.

 

“Owen: Katie.” Gwen watched sadly as Owen turned the color of spoiled milk. She then turned to the hidden camera, glad that she couldn’t see the others’ faces. “Tosh: mother. Ianto: Lisa. Jack: Gray. Suzie…” Gwen hesitated, chewing it over, wanting to spill it all and knowing that she couldn’t. She eventually settled for glaring into the lens and growling out, “glove.” It was ambiguous enough, but Suzie would _know_.

 

Gwen turned around again, getting comfortable.

 

“Go back upstairs, Owen.” She said. “I’m not saying anything else. We can’t risk it.”

 

***

 

“What do we think?” Jack asked.

 

He stood at the front of the boardroom, the large screen showing a strange woman hunkered down in her cell—totally still, mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. Behind Jack, his team sat around in various states of shock.

 

“She appears out of nowhere,” he said, staring at the screen. “Bypassing all the security, just materializing, asleep on our couch... are we sure the systems are up and running?”

 

“Yeah, they’re fine.” Suzie said dully.

 

“And her workup?”

 

“She appears fully human,” Tosh said, scanning her readings. “At least from what I was able to gather from the air in her cell. No indications of telepathy as I first suspected. None of the residual energies we associate with teleportation either.” She set her scanner down, then rubbed a hand over tired eyes. “Jack. All evidence points to her slipping through the rift. A time flux.”

 

“Which means she just might be telling the truth...”

 

Jack whirled around, practically glaring at them. “Right. We need to know if this ‘Gwen’ is really from the future and if she is, I’m buying shots tonight because this is the sort of stuff we’re not paid enough to deal with.”

 

“Torchwood barely pays at all,” Owen grumbled.

 

“True enough. Alright then, Mr. Cheer, what about you? She gave us hints to prove— supposedly—that she knows us. That she’s a member of the team. You believe her?”

 

Owen grimaced, glancing warily at the rest of the group. “Sorta,” he finally muttered.

 

“She said ‘Katie’...” Tosh prompted.

 

“Yeah, you inquisitive shits. Katie... ah, fuck. She was my fiancé, okay? She died. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.” Owen peered up at Jack. “I removed that info from my file. You’re the only who knows that story now.”

 

“And I didn’t tell,” Jack said.

 

“... I know.”

 

Jack turned. “Tosh?”

 

She shrugged. It was strained though. “You know I came here for my mom. That’s not a big secret. Not exactly common knowledge either though.” She took a deep breath. “It is the sort of thing that only you lot would know though. The team.”

 

Suzie didn’t even give Jack the chance to speak. “Childhood memory,” she bit out the second Tosh was done. She lifted her chin high. Jack’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“I assumed she meant something with the resurrection gauntlet. You’ve gotten a little obsessed with it latel—”

 

“Well she didn’t,” Suzie insisted and everyone left it at that.

 

They turned to Ianto.

 

He was, by far, the palest of the lot. He looked briefly at Jack, the edges of his mouth trembling, before he abruptly looked away and stood, sending his chair skittering back. Striding to the screen he pressed a button on the side, resting his head against the wall.

 

“I need more information,” he called.

 

Down in the cells, Gwen’s head shot up. “Ianto?”

 

Her voice came through to them loud and clear.

 

“I need more,” Ianto insisted, shaking. “Lisa. You said _Lisa_. My girlfriend. She... she died at the battle of Canary Wharf. Did you mean that, or... or did you mean...”

 

There was a long moment of silence. “No, Ianto.” Gwen finally said. She was looking straight into the camera, her eyes lost. “I mean what happened after she... died. What you did. What you felt you needed to do. I mean—” she hesitated.

 

“Dr. Tanizaki.” Gwen swallowed, barely forcing out the word. “You’ve contacted him by now, yeah? I know that. And what happens next, not that I can say obviously, but… Is that enough?”

 

Ianto was shaking harder now. “You _know_. If you know why do you sound so sad? What happens?”

 

“… Is that enough, Ianto?”

 

“ _What happened?_ ”

 

“ _Is that enough?_ ” Gwen shouted right back.

 

No one moved. Not for what felt like a very long while.

 

“…That’s enough,” Ianto said, his voice hollow. He signed off.

 

“Who the hell is Dr. Tanizaki,” Jack growled.

 

“No one. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Oh I’m worried about it.”

 

“Well what about ‘Gray,’” Ianto hissed. Jack’s mouth snapped shut. “Yeah. Not so willing to spill your own secrets, are you? But, sir, I...” Ianto looked up, contrite now. “I believe her. Oh god, sir, I believe her, we need to keep this contained—”

 

“Yeah you do.”

 

All five of them turned.

 

“Jack,” Jack said. His expression hovered somewhere between incredulous and amused. “Well. Hey there, handsome.”

 

“Hey, hey.”

 

It was Jack in the doorway. At least, it looked like him. _Exactly_ like him, right down to the period clothes and the infectious grin. The only difference was that this Jack appeared slightly more flustered, his eyes jumping from the team to the image of Gwen behind his double.

 

“Bloody hell,” Owen whispered.

 

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” their Jack said. He slowly eased around the table. “Risky business. Messing with your own timeline.”

 

“Yeah well,” future Jack shook his wrist strap. “Gwen’s worth it. Like, really worth it—stop! C’mon, you know better than to get that close. We touch and we’ve got a damn paradox on our hands. Now what was I saying...? Right! Time. Don’t worry. This isn’t the last time we mess with it either, I mean, the _stories_ I could tell you... Besides, Time Agency isn’t going to give a damn, considering they fell apart years ago. Oh I know, awful right. I—No no, don’t worry, Tosh. Doesn’t matter what I say now because you all are going to take a healthy dose of Retcon before I leave.” He pulled out a small vial containing five pills. “Modified version. Better than the stuff you’ve got now. So here’s what’s going to happen: you all write yourselves little notes saying not to pursue the lost time, I’ll be taking Gwen, you all take these, and we’ll each be on our merry way. Sounds good? You don’t mind losing a day, do you?”

 

Jack caught the vial. “For you? Never.”

 

“Oy,” Owen piped up. “Do we get a say in this?”

 

“No,” both Jacks answered.

 

“It does seem like the safest option,” Ianto said. He was staring hard at the future version of his boss. That Jack grinned.

 

“See? Listen to your tea-boy. Not that you’ll be a tea-boy forever. Ianto Jones, out in the field! I love being able to tell you guys this stuff. Speaking of...” Jack’s face suddenly went slack and cold, almost devoid of emotion. He turned to Suzie. “I’d just like to say, while I still have the chance, that if you weren’t already dead—twice—I would kill you myself. Happily.”

 

“Jack!” Tosh gasped.

 

Suzie said nothing, just stared at the table, gasping slightly.

 

“Take the pills,” he demanded. Jack looked to his past self. “You can grow to hate her in your own time.”

 

God they didn’t want to, but with a nod from their own Jack the team did as they were told, and their future visitor didn’t move and until they’d written notes, swallowed, and their heads were nodding forward dangerously. He gently guided Owen’s head down to the table, fixed Tosh’s hair, and loosened Ianto’s tie.

 

He didn’t touch Suzie.

 

“See you kids in a sec,” Jack said.

 

***

 

Gwen sat as patiently as she could—which was to say, not very patiently at all. Since Ianto had called down she hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs. She wondered how long they’d keep her down here. Could they even afford to let her out? No, but they wouldn’t just abandon her either. Gwen knew that too. She might have infused Torchwood with some of that missing humanity, but they’d never been outright cruel. They’d help her get home. Somehow.

 

“Gwen Cooper.”

 

Of course they would.  

 

She knew. Before Jack even came into view, Gwen knew. It was in the way he said her name, familiarity and the fondness all rolled into one. She stood on shaking legs as Jack leaned casually against the glass.

 

“You bastard,” she laughed, shaking in relief.

 

“ _I’m_ the bastard? I’m not the one who lost the whole team a day back in March.” Jack keyed open the cell, offering Gwen his arm. “Had I known you were this much trouble I never would have offered you the job.”

 

“Liar,” she said.

 

“Absolutely. Now let’s get you home. We’ve got quite the tale to tell our friends...”

 


	8. Feeding Time

“Newbie feeds the dinosaur!” Owen crowed and chucked something massive at Gwen’s head.

 

She caught it at the last second and then gagged as the bag drooped heavily between her hands. Whatever was in there was too soft to hold any form—squishy, vaguely wet, but with hard lumps oozing around inside, and it had a smell that turned her breakfast pastry into a churning mess inside her stomach.

 

Gwen dropped the bag with a hacking cough. “What the hell is this?” she demanded.

 

“Flesh!” Owen called. He skipped down to the autopsy table, yanked open a nearby drawer, and pulled out a packet of Twizzlers. He stuck one between his teeth with a grin.

 

“It’s alien mostly,” he said. “Non-toxic, least so far as I can tell. Bit of human thrown in there too I’m afraid. You wouldn’t believe how many poor sods kick it and their bodies are too fucked up to send back to the family. Even with a creative story attached. That girl,” he pointed to the bag. “She got herself melted. Only solid bones left now, besides the liquid, that is. It’s too bad really. She was a looker, she was.”

 

Gwen backed up another step. Ianto appeared at her side, offering a cup of coffee that she quickly waved off.

 

“We find it best to recycle,” he said, somewhat apologetically. “Disposing of alien corpses is surprisingly difficult.” (“You’re telling me,” Owen grumbled). “Conversely, I’m afraid our budget doesn’t cover the rather impressive amount of meat a pterodactyl goes through weekly. We’ve found it useful to kill two birds with one stone, as it were. Myfanwy doesn’t seem to mind.”

 

“Myfanwy,” Gwen said slowly.

 

“Well we had to call her somethin,” Tosh said. She was typing away at her computer, pausing only briefly to shoot Gwen a sympathetic smile. “She’s really sort of sweet… once you look past her natural instincts. I’m attempting to develop some sort of sauce, something that will help her distinguish between her actual food and us but, well, the culinary arts were never my forte. Just watch your fingers for now.” Tosh paused. “Whole arm, rather.”

 

“Oh my god. You lot are serious.” Gwen said.

 

“Welcome to Torchwood,” Jack called and they all looked up to find him leaning over the catwalk. “Rest of the bags are over there, Gwen. Oh, and if you happen to spot a 1950’s watch,” Jack shook his bare wrist. “Make a grab for it? Myfanwy has a love of hoarding pretty, shiny things.”

 

“She’s part dragon,” Ianto said, completely straight faced.

 

“Although…” Jack rocked back on his heels. “I never have been opposed to letting a beautiful woman take my things…”

 

It was Owen who companionably shoved Gwen on the shoulder, forcing her to start forward on numb legs. He gave her another pat, shoved more sweets into his mouth, and shook his head. “You’re a sick man, Jack Harkness.”

 

“Never claimed otherwise. Gwen? Feeding time.”

 

***

 

Myfanwy’s nest was near the top of the Hub, almost directly across from the invisible lift. The only way up was on a rather rickety ladder that Ianto had installed and really, it was going to take Gwen the rest of the afternoon just to lug all _twelve_ of the bags up there. Bad enough that the meat inside shifted horribly across her shoulders.

 

Bad enough that there was a pterodactyl waiting at the top.

 

She heaved and gagged, trying desperately not to breathe through her nose. By the time she was halfway there, Gwen had promised herself that she’d just toss the whole collection inside and skid her way back down. Ianto had said—with a very serious finger was—that she was to empty the bags _prior_ to letting Myfanwy feed. They couldn’t afford to spend money on disposable bags either, so just be a dear, Gwen, and dump the nearly liquid alien flesh out while a dangerous predator looks on, kay?

 

Fat luck she’d be doing that.

 

“Newbie feeds the dinosaur,” she groused, climbing up and up. “Bet you Owen just made that up, the little twat. Next it’ll be, ‘Newbie cleans the Weevil cage’ and ‘Newbie acts as guinea pig for alien technology.’ I don’t care what he says, I’m not touching that vibrating pole thing we found. Tosh wants to know what it does so bad, how ‘bout we try stuffing it up Owen’s—oh.”

 

Gwen was so engrossed in her soliloquy that she nearly missed arriving at the top.

 

Couldn’t miss the two yellow eyes staring at her though.

 

“Helloooo,” she sang softly. Scooting her butt up onto the nest, easing the bag down off her shoulder, Gwen swallowed hard as the dinosaur shifted its wings, long beak edging curiously towards her.

 

“Hi... ha, uh, Myfanwy? Yeah, that’s your name, is it? Pretty name, just like you, see? I’m nice. So nice, really. Definitely not worth eating. And lookit what I’ve got! All this oozing alien meat. Straight off Owen’s autopsy table? Mm mmm good. Now why don’t we just uh—oh no.”

 

Myfanwy wasn’t very interested in the meat though, even when Gwen heaved the bag right near her—foot? Claw? Definitely claw. Instead the pterodactyl spared it only the briefest glance before edging even closer towards Gwen, its head titled curiously. Myfanwy started making a strange “whraaa whraaa” noise that could either mean “nice to meet you” or “you look better than whatever shit the humans are giving me this week.” Gwen leaned back, realized there was nowhere to go but down, and then froze in terror as Myfanwy moved with incredible speed, her beak stopping just an inch or so from Gwen’s nose.

 

With her bulk out of the nest’s center, Gwen could now see a series of glittering objects nestled amongst the straw.

 

“I don’t supposed you’d consider giving that watch back?” she whispered.

 

Myfanwy lunged and Gwen screamed.

 

***

 

“Do you think she’s dead?” Owen asked, twirling his pen. Tosh shot him a dirty look, to which he just shrugged.

 

“She has been gone a rather long time...” Ianto said. He shielded his eyes and looked up at the ceiling... but no. It was too dark up there to see anything worthwhile. “We need some floodlights,” he muttered.

 

“Put it on the list,” Jack said, trotting down the steps. “And no, she’s not dead. Myfanwy is the epitome of a civilized being. More-so than many humans I could name.” He shot a grin at Owen. “It’s probably just taking her a while to get all the bags up.”

 

“One more reason you men should be doing this,” Tosh muttered.

 

Owen chucked his pen. “What are you bitching about? You were recruited first. You’ve never had to feed that beast a day in your life.”

 

Tosh smiled. “I know.”

 

“Besides, it’s Ianto’s monster. How come you’re not feeding it?”

 

“I can’t risk tearing my suit,” he said solemnly.

 

“Too right.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, we’re Torchwood! You know, daring deeds and adventure? Braving the weird and unimaginable. We thrive on danger! If PC Cooper can’t handle one little pterodactyl—”

 

“Oh,” Tosh murmured, looking up. “I think she’s handling her just fine.”

 

They all gazed skywards and their mouths dropped, simultaneously as Myfanwy soared over their heads.

 

Of course, it wasn’t the act of flight that had surprised the team. That, after all, was an everyday occurrence. No, it was what—or rather _who_ —was riding on Myfanwy’s back.

 

“Get me down!” Gwen shrieked and clung more forcefully to the pterodactyl’s neck as they went into a sudden dive. Gwen screamed, Myfanwy screeched in what appeared to be joy, and all the papers on Tosh’s desk went flying as powerful wings beat just a few feet above. The four ducked—Owen’s latest batch of candy falling from his mouth, getting kicked into some dusty corner where it would be forgotten for approximately eight months—and there was something resembling a mad scramble until Mayfanwy landed atop the catwlk. Gwen still hung on desperately, her pupils blown wide, the rest of her huffing out terrified breaths. With things settled just a bit, Jack and the others could make out the rest of Gwen, decked out in what looked to be pension’s worth of jewelry, metal gadgets, and other things that shown in the sun. Gwen looked like a macabre, ancient queen.

 

“There’s my watch!” Jack cried happily.

 

“And my geiger counter,” Tosh murmured. “Oh wow.”

 

“... how...” Owen choked slightly. “How’d you get old Myfanwy to do that, Gwen?”

 

“I don’t know.” Gwen might have been snappish if she hadn’t sounded so terrified. Myfanwy gave a lazy stretch of her wings and Gwen squeaked, driving her face into the dinosaur’s skin. She came back up a second later, shaking. “I don’t know! Oh my god, oh my god—I just tried to feed her! Like you said! I tried but then she was putting all this stuff on me and she got underneath me--I thought she was attacking, I really did—but then I was here and we’ve been flying—” Gwen gestured upwards forcefully. “HAVE YOU NOT HEARD ME SCREAMING THE LAST TEN MINUTES?”

 

“Nope,” Jack said. “Now we know the acoustics don’t travel too far around here, eh, Ianto?”

 

“We’ll have to run some tests later, sir.” Ianto edged forward slowly, jumping back when Myfanwy snapped at his hand. “Ah. Amidst all this adventure, did you manage to feed her, Gwen?”

 

“... no.”

 

“Right.” Ianto took another step back.

 

Jack cocked a thumb at the dinosaur, turning to Owen and Tosh. “I think she _likes_ Gwen. Should I be offended? I think I’m offended.”

 

“Can’t account for taste,” Owen said.

 

“Oi!” Gwen chucked a silver coffee mug at his head. It missed by a good margin and shattered near Tosh’s chair. “Shit! Sorry, Tosh.”

 

“It’s fine,” she said faintly.

 

“Throw my watch,” Jack begged.

 

“No. You get me down. _Then_ watch.”

 

“Have you tried asking?” Ianto said. They all turned to him. He shrugged. “She does seem to like you and we really have no idea how intelligent she is. Try it.”

 

Gwen nodded. Hesitantly, she leaned forward until her mouth was where she thought the ears might be. She swallowed.

 

“Yes, uh...”

 

“Myfanwy.” Ianto supplied.

 

“I know that! Myfanwy. Okay. You mind... putting me down?”

 

With a joyous shriek Myfanway kicked off the bar, sending a hail of objects to rain down on the team. They had just enough time to hear Gwen yell about this being the exact _opposite_ of what she’d wanted before the two disappeared into the darkness, rising far higher into the Hub than any of them could track. Ianto watched them go, one hand shielding his eyes.

 

“… That didn’t work,” he said.

 

“Should we go get her?” Owen was already making a grab for his kit.

 

“Nah.” Doing a little jig, Jack then swooped forward to pluck up his watch from the floor. He slipped it onto his wrist with a hum. “Let them have their fun. Team bonding and all that... but if Gwen lands before closing time I’m in my office, doing very important leadership work. Can’t be disturbed.”

 

“Of course, sir.” Ianto smirked.

 

There was a long moment of silence, all of them straining to hear Myfanwy’s call. Or Gwen’s screams. Then:

 

“Gwen should feed her from now on,” Tosh said.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Forever, so far as I’m concerned. Cheers.”

 

***

 

Three hours later Gwen stepped into her flat, bearing a torn shirt, a hair matted with dinosaur saliva, and an expression that could kill a man. Rhys saw none of this, focused as he was on the telly.

 

“Hey, you’re home! Great. How was work? Load of rubbish for me today. Should’ve heard the stuff Andrew was carrying on about. Bad news is I was stuck in the office with him for near the whole damn shift. Good news is we got off early on account of the weather. Nasty storm coming in, yeah? So I picked us up some Chinese and a film. Thought we could relax for a bit. You in the mood for _Jurassic Park_?”

 

For the life of him, Rhys couldn’t figure out why he slept on the couch that night.

 

 


	9. Cramped Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after "Countrycide."

**“Countrycide” – 3:07am**

They came out of the woods battered and bruised, bearing scrapes, cuts, and wrenched muscles, with mud matting their hair and a dull sheen to their eyes. The entirety of Torchwood trudged forward with the same, zombie-like weariness… but trudge forward they did. They were good at moving forward.

 

They had to be.

 

Owen reached forward with a trembling hand and pulled a leaf from Gwen’s hair. She didn’t even notice. Crushing it, letting the pieces fall back to the ground, Owen felt a stupid sort of satisfaction. Removing the leaf didn’t ensure that Gwen’s gunshot wound wouldn’t become infected, or keep Ianto from developing a concussion, or sooth the ache in Tosh’s ribs… it certainly did nothing for their emotional states. Still, cleaning Gwen’s hair brought Owen something resembling peace—a strange, intimate tie to the kiss they’d shared just hours before.

 

Fucking hell. That had been just this afternoon. Felt like years.

 

Mechanically, Owen reached forward again and straightened a tangle. This time Gwen felt him. She turned. Blinked.

 

“Hey, you,” she whispered.

 

“Hey.”

 

That was the entire conversation and yet it spoke volumes for them both. Gwen tugged at the matt where Owen’s hand had been and instinctually stumbled closer to the body at her right. She found Tosh, arms wrapped protectively around her waist, for once not peering curiously at a piece of tech. Gwen felt a sudden, unexpected stab of guilt for their earlier snide comments.

 

“Cold?” She asked and winced when Tosh jumped.

 

“Here,” Ianto croaked and then stopped, his hands frozen up by his shoulders as he realized his jacket was gone, lost during chaos and torture. His expression shattered.

 

“Here,” Jack echoed and draped his own coat over Tosh.

 

It was pretty clear to them all that she wasn’t cold. Not like that anyway.

 

“Fucking night,” Owen said. They’d made it back to their car where he ground his head against the window. “What a fucking hell of a night.”

 

Jack nodded. “Yes.” He was the only one of them who looked even slightly put together and his team knew him well enough to recognize it as a front. Still, when they turned his way, a somehow still-clean shirt and stoic expression implying lucidity, they were willing to buy into the lie for just a few minutes more. Jack noted the pleading looks and gave them a wan smile, shrugging.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he repeated. “It’s the job. C’mon now, none of you are in any condition to drive.”

 

Ianto let Jack steer him away from the driver’s seat but then put a hand on Jack’s arm when he reached for the door. It took him a moment, but Ianto eventually swallowed and shook his head.

 

“Neither are you.”

 

“I’m fine—”

 

“You’re not,” Owen interrupted. He tiredly drew a hand down over his eyes. “None of us are, alright? I’m pretty fucking far gone, but there’s just enough doctor left in me to say hell to the no—none of us are getting behind a two ton vehicle tonight. So we’ve got two choices far as I see it: wait for the amateurs to finish and hitch a ride back, or curl up here and actually do that camping shit.”

 

Tosh let out a quick, hollow laugh. “I’m not pitching another tent.”

 

“Car,” Gwen said decisively and crawled inside before anyone could stop her.

 

It was remarkably easy after that. Jack retrieved the emergency blankets while Tosh and Owen put the seats down in the back, creating a flat space for them all. Ianto found a bag for them to throw their muddy shoes into while Gwen half-heartedly emptied the travel Febreze, trying to get rid of the smell of blood, sweat, and fear. Owen shucked his pants while both girls threw off their bras. All of them managed a few frantic gulps of water.

 

Tosh was still wrapped in Jack’s coat as she lay down in the middle of the car, her socked feet wiggling anxiously. Gwen tucked in on her right, pressed against the door, trying not to touch Tosh at first and then saying screw it, literally, spitting the words as she threw an arm over Tosh’s side. Tosh wormed backwards, already nearly asleep and not caring whose comfort she sought.

 

Owen settled in on Tosh’s left. In the dark he sought and found Gwen’s fingers. He gave them a squeeze and in the moment before she slept, Gwen squeezed back.

 

Ianto found space at the head of the group, his side aligned with the back’s door. His eyes were still wide open as he laid down and he could just make out Owen, staring at Gwen and Tosh. As if sensing his gaze, Owen caught Ianto’s eye and gave a surprised grunt. He tossed half his blanket over his shoulders, muttering that if he needed more to just take it. They fell asleep as one.

 

That left only Jack.

 

He took a moment to just at his team, taking stock of each individual, giving thanks to whoever might be bothering to listen that they’d come through this night okay. Relatively. They _would_ be okay because Jack had every intention of watching over them until they were. Starting now.  

 

He sat down with his back to the front seats, knees bent so that his bare feet were just an inch or so from Tosh’s. With a deep breath, Jack extended his arms limply to either side, one reaching towards Owen, the other nearing Gwen. His eyes took in the lump that was Ianto while his mouth formed words he wasn’t entirely aware he was speaking:

 

“Only a couple hours ‘till dawn, guys. Get what rest you can. I’ll keep watch. Don’t really sleep much now, you know? I’ll wake you as gently as I can. No promises though. We need to hoof it before the police start questioning why there’s a suspicious black car parked in the woods. Ha. _Now_ they’re suspicious. I’ll make it up to you though. There’s a lovely little café not half an hour from here. We can hit it on the way back to the Hub—best chocolate croissants, lemme tell ya. Great green tea too. You’ll love it…”

 

Jack trailed off, shutting his eyes at the stupidity of it all. He was sitting in darkness, his healed body nevertheless aching from their excursions, prattling nonsense to those who couldn’t—and perhaps wouldn’t—want to hear him.

 

Jack opened his eyes again, taking them in as a whole.

 

With the night underway, he said what he’d actually meant to say. What he'd always need to: 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 


End file.
